Stacey Tran

In the morning I unfold the dirt from my hand
My lover is putting me through a silent retreat
Designed for compliment recipients who are unable to accept gifts

table chair window

Maximalist etiquette requires stationary wheels
The idea alone of some train is no longer good enough for me
Often I wonder what can I do with a $20 bill

string fabric sleep

It’s a circus up there where I try feeding myself yarn
There’s no pattern to follow just one foot in front of the other
Worried I’m wearing anything at all that slightly resembles pajamas

time money water

I could sleep for one more hour but my eyes won’t shut
I keep refreshing my online banking summary, nothing changes
A water bottle is my least favorite thing to carry

tree speech listen

If a woman’s shirt is longer than her jacket, leave her
I want to write and be read anywhere
There are no words you don’t know

mouth ear hand

There are no words I would use that I normally would not
Why would I
Be proving the sticks of fashion we hold together

metal glass pavement

Dragging an elevator outside
It won’t be photogenic maybe but you will feel something
What’s it like to run way over to the far end of the opposite of clarity

paper cloud metal

I can’t trust myself in the moment of looking up a definition or the weather
From here I predict
An aftertaste of shiitake mushroom drying on the evening rack of my tongue

concrete water oil

One doesn’t have to decide
Between a block sale and a ladder made of cards
I am asking you to show me how wet your fingers are

wind cloth cloth

There’s no worse sound than a door that opens immediately once it has closed
If the scarf comes down past her waist she’ll hang up before you do
What other article of clothing are you a little too good for?